


Randomness

by danglingdingle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, bisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danglingdingle/pseuds/danglingdingle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 1sentence-challenge on LiveJournal. Styles range from utter fluff to dark themes one sentence at a time. Please read responsively.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Randomness

#01 - Air

The air itself clung to Arthur’s sweat-covered skin, his breath hitching each time Eames pushed in another bead of the toy, easing in a finger with it, Arthur’s chest stopping its heaving each time Eames brushed his tongue over Arthur’s hole, telling him how beautifully he took it all, how proud Eames was of Arthur, how he knew he could take it all, and then more.

#02 - Apples

It was indecent the way the juice of the apple dribbled along Eames’s stubble, or rather, it was beyond indecent how much Arthur wanted to hurdle himself over the table and lick Eames’s jaw, suck his apple-sweet fingers, one by one, until he could hear Eames moan.

#03 - Beginning

Everything slotted into place right after the Fischer job, right there, at the airport, where Eames stood waiting for Arthur, took his hand like he’d always done so, flipped off an almost innocent bystander for staring, and kissed Arthur right then and there, when there were still dimples adorning Arthur’s cheeks.

#04 - Bugs

Anything but wasps, was Arthur’s opinion, when the ominous buzzing sound rattled from the window, Eames already on his way to play the Knight in Shiny Armour, armed with a rolled newspaper.

#05 - Coffee

The taste of coffee had grown on Eames when he’d first watched Dale Cooper drink his in obvious bliss, black and hot, in Twin Peaks, and watching reruns, he couldn’t help the tips of his ears turning a bit pink with love when Arthur proffered him a steaming cup for the first time.

#06 - Dark

The room was pitch black, allowing them only to feel, only to smell, only to hear, and it was more than enough, for if Eames had also seen the way his cock pushed into Arthur, slow and full with meaning, he’d come right then and there, and the darkness was a blessing.

#07 - Despair

Just waiting for the kick, three more minutes, three more fucking minutes, an eternity on the third level, where Eames was bleeding from his sliced throat, gurgling up crimson, too dark to be nothing but his lifeblood, Arthur kneeling beside him, holding Eames’s hand when he took his last breath, and Arthur hooked himself up to the PASIV, following him deeper, as deep as it would take.

#08 - Doors

The way Eames always simpered and minced through the doors Arthur held open for him never lost its appeal, making Arthur hum with laughter, even seven years later.

#09 - Drink

”For if there were a Fountain of Youth, I’d drink from it for you, and not for me,” Arthur finished his sentence, holding open a small brown box between them where they stood whispering with their foreheads pressed together.

#10 - Duty

Fuck it and the horse it rode in on with, since this was Arthur he was kissing, and the mark’s brother could grow wings, horns and hoofs and fly away for all Eames cared, since this was Arthur, and this was him, and duty was only a word.

#11 - Earth

Continents apart, his hand on his cock, Eames could but to remember the way Arthur had arched up on the bed, twisting from all his fours and looked up at Eames, sweet, sweet words coming out in a flurry, telling Eames how he wanted to see him, watch him as he fucked Arthur six ways to Sunday, and it was that look in Arthur’s eyes that made the Earth shudder and disappear when Eames came all over the memory.

#12 - End

Dead end in the middle of nowhere, a paradox which meant a leap into nothing, had one not been readily acquainted with the maze Arthur had been forced to create for the job, as their architect was as incompetent as they came, and Eames grinned into the void, waving cheerfully after the, frankly fucking annoying, projection.

#13 - Fall

Eames never really meant to fall for Arthur, that much he knew, but then again, lately, he had been feeling he didn’t know much at all, for it had been Arthur who had meant for Eames to fall for him, regardless of what Eames had to say, and really, who was he to argue?

#14 - Fire

Had Cobb had picked an element for the two, it’d been fire, for it was in their eyes when they saw each other, it was there when they touched, the Hell hath no fury when they fought, and what he didn’t even dare guess, was the flames in which they burnt when they made up and fucked.

#15 - Flexible

Arthur’s heart stuttered, halted, and picked up a pace of a race horse when he opened the door to the sight of Eames kneeling on their bed, his other hand bringing himself off while his other hand was buried four fingers deep in his arse, the sweat on Eames’s shoulders gleaming, making Arthur unsure which part of the man to engulf first.

#16 - Flying

The PASIV was something Arthur was going to hug to his chest and kiss it firmly once they’d woken up from the dream in which there was only him and Eames, shrouded with cooling clouds, flying rather than rolling on the ground, kissing each other fiercely, all teeth and wet, pink lips, hunger for one another increasing in their guts with each passing second, both of them thinking only one thing; if making love in the clouds would be anything like fucking in the sea.

#17 - Food

Ice cream was clearly the substance to consume in the sweltering Mombasa heat, but it had been Eames’s idea that they’d eat it off each other.

#18 - Foot

Long, slender toes that matched Arthur’s fingers, curling with a sigh and a groan and a deep growl when Eames flicked his tongue over the sole of Arthur’s foot, Arthur laying on his stomach on the mattress, naked, vulnerable, and for Eames to do whatever he pleased, as for this, this there weren’t a safe word.

#19 - Grave

All they could do was to hold hands in front of the headstone of one Mallore Cobb, both of them speechless even though it had been years, but the pain, the what-could-have-beens, never went away, not with death, not with anything, when there was that knowledge shed on them in the fine print on the grave which spoke of an unborn child.

#20 - Green

The dark, murky, acidy colour on Eames’s tanned skin drove Arthur literally insane with not knowing whether to burn the shirt, or tear it off the man, carefully, intentionally ripping off and sending each button clattering on the floor.

#21 - Head

Eames’s head lolls back in bliss and he squirms delightfully when Arthur breathes gently into his ear, licking the shell slightly, teasing, knowing full well what it does to Eames and how all his blood is now headed South - the exact direction Arthur is about to head to, right after he’s made Eames beg with Arthur’s nae rolling off his tongue like honey.

#22 - Hollow

The hollow between Arthur’s collarbones is filled with sweat, a small pool for Eames to lap at, languidly moving his hand on both heir cocks, leaning on one elbow, hovering above Arthur and watching, just watching as the sweat begins to form again, thinking, how he could just stay here and never leave.

#23 - Honor

Though there weren’t supposed to be honour among thieves, there was always the exception to the rule, and it was flesh and blood, in for on Mr. Eames, standing in the doorway to Arthur’s hotel room, a sole white rose in his hand and looking to all the world he was about to be swallowed by the Earth itself, and all because of a minor misunderstanding that was purely for work, which, Eames hoped, the flower would prove irretrievably.  
#24 - Hope

Hope had nothing to do with the determination they always found each other no matter where they happened to e working at the time, wishing was not part of the equation which compiled of Arthur and Eames, as it was an exact science how they always managed to sweet-talk their teams into needing this exact point man, or that one particular forger, even when the job was so easy a child could’ve done it, and one wasn’t even needed…

#25 - Light

The harsh, cool lights of the warehouse slanted even colder shadows on Arthur’s face, making Eames yearn for that time in Greece when the evening sun had colored Arthur with the most beautiful shade of love.

#26 - Lost

Eames felt at a loss, way back before Beginning, when they had shared a flat for a job, two bedrooms, one for each, not even a glance to the direction of sharing a bed, not way back, when Eames first heard the muffled groan coming from the next room, then another, as if Arthur tried so very hard to keep quiet, while Eames was nonplussed for the fraction of a second it took for his cock to get the idea, that Arthur was next door, masturbating, and Eames was harder than he’d been in his life.

#27 - Metal

When the cold, smooth, infuriatingly arousing surface of Arthur’s Glock whispered over the taut skin of Eames’s straining cock, it never occurred to him to wonder whether the safety of the gun was on, especially, not when the metal nudged and delved under his foreskin, caressing, thrilling Eames out of his senses, out of his skin and above the scene where he saw Arthur’s eyes keen on him, Arthur offering Eames this moment, this trust.

#28 - New

But God how overwhelming, how utterly, devastatingly fantastical it was to have this feeling, this, Eames holding Arthur’s gaze while he jerked Arthur’s cock gently, slowly, and fucked the slit, his urethra, with a blunt, thin metal rod, made love to him like Arthur had never had before, not even by Eames, and it was Eames who was giving him this, turning Arthur inside out, relentlessly, until Arthur came over Eames’s hands with a keening, animalistic moan.

#29 - Old

Shit, shit, shit, but Eames wasn’t a a superstitious man, but still, he’d forgotten the something old, and how would this bode for their marriage?

#30 - Peace

It was all the more better than it wasn’t a dream, when Arthur laid his head onto Eames’s shoulder, in public, at a cafe in London, having made peace with himself on the matter of public displays of affection, on how he wanted everyone to know, short of shouting it from the rooftops, that this man, Eames, was his.

#31 - Poison  
Arthur certainly wasn’t a panicking man, but when their chemist turned out to be a man of Cobol Engineering, with a very, very bad batch of Somnacin designed to leave Arthur on the shores of Limbo, while unbeknownst to him, Eames tested the chemicals, it was time to run up the walls, right before alerting Yusuf and getting Eames out of it, relatively intact, and the rest, what with the projections of Arthur in the dream torturing him, they’d sort out later, alone, when Eames could flick his totem and have Arthur, loving, beside him, making the moment as real as humanly possible.

#32 - Pretty

Eames couldn’t help it, with three fingers deep inside Arthur, his other fingers being suckled by the man, the sight and the feel of it almost being enough to bring Eames off, the pretty sight of part of him delved deep within Arthur, who whimpered so prettily.

#33 - Rain

They were both soaked wet and laughing, when Eames pulled Arthur into an alleyway in Sousse, glancing around carefully before caving into the dimples forming on Arthur’s cheeks and kissing one of them, right before finding his mouth and getting lost once more, in the simple, profound bliss of being able to do this.

#34 - Regret

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien coursed through the air, having Eames at unease, not knowing whether he was dreaming or not, but Arthur loved the song, had the title tattooed on him, making it difficult for Eames to tell reality from fantasy, right up until Arthur came into his vision, eyes serious, mouthing the lyrics right before ensuring that Eames was indeed in this world, with Arthur, the song now playing in Eames’ heart with its truth.

#35 - Roses

Thorny, prickly, beautiful like Arthur arching off of their bed in throes of red passion, was the excuse for the ten flowers Eames bought out of a whim.

#36 - Secret

After a while, they held no secrets, since who are you going to trust with your everything, if not the one person who made you whole, shared your dreams even outside the influence of the PASIV, and had the balls to ask even the most delicate questions with genuine interest, who wasn’t afraid to ask for a fist in his arse when he felt like they needed fulfilling, which was the situation where Eames came to, his hand buried inside Arthur, his other hand on his cock, his orgasm a whisper away, when the recollection of Arthur asking for this washed all over him again, together with the unimaginable way Arthur rocked back and forth, panting Eames’s name, asking, ”It’s all of it, isn’t it?” over and over again with such thorough satisfaction it became unbearable, unfathomable, and Eames had no option, really, but to come over the back Arthur’s thigh.

#37 - Snakes

The snakes in their paradise rose their heads whenever someone had the audacity to so much as look at Eames too long, as Arthur’s hackles rose, not out of mistrust, no, never, but out of the blood-deep need to make sure that Eames was his, and no-one else’s, the possessiveness, the sheer jealousy making Eames’s grin grow a little wider, making him wink in the direction of the staring man, only because he’d get to know the repercussions of his actions when Arthur once more made him remember who he belonged to, fucking him senseless.

#38 - Snow

Eames could but laugh a little at all the snow of his dream on the third level of the Fischer job, suddenly glad that Arthur wasn’t there beside him, as all he’d hear about would be the snow down Arthur’s collar, his freezing fingers, the misery of winter and skiing altogether, all up to the point where Eames missed Arthur by his side.

#39 - Solid

In the afterglow, feeling Eames’s come drip out of him and not caring, except for the feel of loss, the solid weight of Eames on top of him was the only thing to keep Arthur from floating away, and for that, he was grateful, as this was the place he wanted to be, not some dream world somewhere, where things were less tangible, and so much less Eames.

#40 - Spring

In the dream in the middle of the winter, staring was all Eames could do when Arthur picked up a dandelion from God knows where and planted it behind his ear with a wide grin, thousands upon thousands of the flowers blooming around them, the most beautiful one now adorning Arthur, making Eames unable to move in fear that the dream would collapse and shatter, taking with it this sight he’d always behold, right up until he woke up and it was Spring, with fresh dandelions in a vase bedside his bedside table, the scent of coffee pouring from the kitchen, Arthur standing in the doorway to the bedroom with a single flower tucked in his hair.

#41 - Stable

Oh, fuck off, in the manner that is Eames all over, like he’d ever succumb to something as common as stable, as if he’d ever even consider fucking Arthur through the mattress would ever be something commonworth, while it is everything but that.

#42 - Strange

It straddles him in the way that that Eames does, the weight of the ounce of his own flesh, the idea that has been not planted, but born out of absolutely nowhere, the entire nebulosity of if dragging, clawing at him, the way, the strange way he comes around to confessing himself he loves Eames.

#43 - Summer

It must be a dream, because, surely, since the last drags of summer don’t play, seek-and-hide, through all the shades Arthur can see while Eames’s mouth’s at work on his cock, tidying up the display, filing away their most recent stay in Italy, but it’s all Arthur can do while caressing Eames’s stubbled cheek, wording around promises he’ll make sure to keep.

#44 - Taboo

The fist time Eames sees Arthur’s bisected glans, he doesn’t shun away; he’s like a man possessed, reaching, tonguing further than ever, feeling more than he ever has, licking at the scarred, sensitive head of Arthur’s own making, wishing nigh unbearably that he’d been there, at the time, to watch the blade of the scalpel drawing out blood, to lick it off, to fortify, simply because he’s a selfish being.

#45 - Ugly

There isn’t a part of Eames that Arthur considers as being ugly after all his clothes are off, after sweaty hands, after hurried, frantic lips, after commitments deeper than skin, on his way to love more deeper than he can even begin to fathom.

#46 - War

It’s all a matter of perception, Eames reminds himself as he delves into the trench, grimy, filthy, lodging himself against Arthur’s prone form, claiming his stiff fingers in between his own, burrowing his head into Arthur’s unresponsive, blood-spattered neck, knowing with an unsurprising relief that death will be the ultimate dream, and as if underlining Eames’s conviction, the earth shatters around them, leaving the two corpses to be found by their teammates, while the dead look on, and smile.

#47 - Water

Arthur watched idly as the last drop from the pot refused to let go and fall into the mug, clinging, dangling there, and slowly, inexorably summoning a phantom icy hand curl around Arthur’s heart as he blinked at the metaphor of time itself, how this was the seconds stretching into minutes stretching into months while waiting for Eames to come home.

#48 - Welcome

There was a time for words, there were times for action, frantic kisses and roaming, reclaiming hands, and they’d been though them all, to be sure, but there were times, like this, when a fond gaze and the smell of dinner was more than enough for Arthur to know that he was welcomed, even with dried blood on his hands, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the familiar feeling of love, love, _love_ in his chest.

#49 - Winter

There really, truly, wasn’t much more to do about the cliché splayed in front of Arthur, other than to accept the proffered glass of blood-red wine and slump on the bear skin in front of the fireplace as gracefully as he could manage while Eames was dragging him downwards, hands finding their path beneath Arthur’s bathrobe, brushing over his balls, teasing with a smirk on his face which did nothing if not intensify the mischief in his eyes as the snow outside the cabin continued to block them from any form of civilization, as if playing right into Eames’s pocket.

#50 - Wood

”’Blair Witch Project’, honestly, Eames,” Arthur manages through his fits of chuckles at Eames’s outstanding performance of sniveling and babbling quite incoherently in the light of the torch, right after he’d charged into the tent in the middle of the fucking night as if the devil himself were chomping at his heels, and if it wasn’t for the sheer, unfeigned panic in his eyes startling Arthur into suspicious alertness, if it wasn’t for the knowledge that Eames’s ideas of a practical jokes involved people actually coming out of them relatively unharmed, they’d never have made it out alive, marred with shared nightmares until death do them apart.  
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